


Clair-obscur

by Zimraphel



Series: Tryptich [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, no stumbling this time, suicide as a choice and a judgement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 09:00:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30069840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zimraphel/pseuds/Zimraphel
Summary: Maedhros walks into the fiery chasm.
Series: Tryptich [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2213400
Comments: 8
Kudos: 27





	Clair-obscur

They say it burned them.

They say it burned them because this means they are right; because it absolves one from having to judge those already condemned by their own suffering. If all of their efforts were in vain from the start every hindrance was only a delaying of the inevitable, no, more noble a deed still; a protection from himself, this man now killed at last by his own shadow.

In this story no one casts the first stone; lifts itself out of great depths. Sails an impossible arc through the dirty air; finds its mark without guidance, disappearing forever into the sea, into the earth, with no convoluted turns of Fate or stubborn wills set in-between to change its path.

They say it burned them.

It is so easily done; to let the Light itself reveal him for a monster, picture cast in high contrast, true understanding a luxury done easily enough without.

They will say the pain was unbearable, unimaginable; they will say that it makes his death explicable, unavoidable, not so much a choice, never a judgement of this world they choose to live in, the rules by which it is played —nothing but the one way out left to someone –something twisted so far beyond its purpose that its revelation is destruction, this monster defeated by the innocent silver of a mirror.

They will say it burned because it is easier to believe him stumbling his way over earth still half-opened in some blind agony, meeting his fate very nearly by mistake; easier to imagine than this dispossessed heir of a bliss now only half-remembered looking at what portion was now offered of the constellation he had known and refusing scraps cast from a table.

They say it burns them.

-

But it does not: it lies cool and placid in his hand, like any other shard of colored glass. Blueish white casts a ribbed maze of shadow without exit, scarred from many swords whose owners could not stop him even so. Here it is, then; the stone that tore apart the earth, glowing now only with the faint light of memory. It is so much smaller than he remembers, and cold, this last relic of a life long lived and long abandoned. This last fragment of a fire, of a cause to which he dedicated a thousand deaths and more.

If he closes his fist the Light disappears, his hand a soft pink lantern. He looks at it in wonder, glowing with diffuse brilliance. There is nothing to it. It is a star disguised by flesh.

His gaze is steady. He looks over his shoulder; cannot see anything worth staying for.

Takes another step.

-

and burns, warmed by the memory of fire.

**Author's Note:**

> this really is my maedhros stumbling and walking into the chasm with various attitudes year I'm afraid.


End file.
